


Nothing to Undo

by Lleu



Series: A Long Drive Back from the Mountains [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-24
Updated: 2012-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-02 11:39:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lleu/pseuds/Lleu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Problem-solving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd once again by [Tequila_Mockingbird](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tequila_Mockingbird). Assumes a point of divergence post-S1.

_Situation:_ Derek Hale wants to go on a date with Stiles Stilinski.  
 _Problem:_ Derek Hale has no way to communicate with Stiles Stilinski other than showing up in his bedroom.  
 _Solution:_ Derek Hale needs a cell phone.

In some ways (very few), Derek was lucky. When his family had died (unlucky), they had left behind money (lucky). He had a car (lucky), even if he didn't really have a house (unlucky). He hadn't ever thought about maybe needing a phone. He hadn't needed to communicate with anyone. He could always show up in Scott's room if he had to. Or, more importantly right now, Stiles's. Except somehow the 3a.m.-room-appearance didn't seem like the right way to plan a date. So he needed a phone.

Fortunately, there was an Apple store not far from Beacon Hills. Derek had never cared much about computers or iPods or whatever, but he had a vague sense that an iPhone was a decent phone. So early Saturday morning he drove out to it and, with the assistance of an "associate" at the store, picked out a phone.

He hadn't realized how expensive they were, but he shrugged it off. It wasn't like he had any real regular expenses. He was set for life, financially, provided he kept living in a burned-out shell of a house with no electricity or hot water. So maybe he should put a little more thought into his finances. That could come later. Right now the only things he was paying for regularly were gas and, now, a phone. And food, sometimes, when he felt like it. Like tonight with Stiles.

Stiles.


	2. Chapter 2

_Situation:_ Derek Hale told Stiles Stilinski he would text him to make plans.  
 _Problem:_ Derek Hale does not have Stiles's cell phone number.  
 _Solution: Derek Hale needs to get Stiles's cell phone number from someone who has it._

It wasn't, he had to admit, the best solution. Probably. But he also couldn't think of any other one. There had to be one somewhere, but it was too late, now. He was already at the McCall house, trying to figure out where Scott had left his phone when he went out running. It didn't have much of a smell, and it wasn't readily apparent out in the room, so Derek was reduced to poking around in drawers. Nothing but slightly mildewy clothes. Scott apparently did his own laundry, although normally he just smelled like sweat and hormones and Allison and other things that covered up any other smells on his clothes. Mostly hormones. Was he always thinking about sex?

Derek was so absorbed in this search that he didn't hear Scott until too late. The door opened and Scott yelped.

"Derek!"

"I need Stiles's phone number," Derek said without preamble.

"What? No!" Scott was too flustered to remember that he hated Derek. "Dude, what the fuck is going on?"

"I need Stiles's phone number." This wasn't complicated; Derek didn't understand what was apparently so hard to grasp about it.

"Is this some kind of joke? Stiles said last night that you guys are going on a date."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Derek asked, face impassive.

"Dude, Stiles isn't gay. _You're_ not gay."

"Don't have to be. Where's your phone?"

"Dude, I am not giving you Stiles's phone number. Why don't you go break into his house?"

"That's not how you plan dates," Derek answered simply, eminently logical. "The sooner you tell me Stiles's number, the sooner I leave."

"Derek! You can't just come...barging in here just because you're the alpha now," Scott said angrily. "I haven't forgiven you."

"I'm not asking you to. Not right away. I'm asking you to give me a chance, some time. And I'm asking you to give me Stiles's phone number so I can leave."

Scott fumed, but he could sense Derek wasn't going to leave unless he got what he wanted.

"Fine." Scott gave Derek the number. Derek blinked.

"You have Stiles's phone number memorized?"

"Yeah, so?" Scott asked defensively.

"Why?"

"It's — I —" Scott didn't have an answer. "We decided to at one point. Memorize each other's phone numbers. For fun. Stiles decided."

Derek raised an eyebrow.

"You know how he is. Stiles always has random crazy ideas."

"And was it? Fun?"

"Well, once when Coach was getting everyone's phone numbers so the captain would have them, I accidentally gave him Stiles's, and then we had to sneak into the office and fix it." Scott smiled, remembering. "We were about this close to being caught, but we managed it somehow, even though Stiles tripped on the doorframe as we were leaving and knocked over someone's mail."

Derek nodded shortly. "Thank you."

Then he was gone. It was Scott's turn to blink.

"I'm still mad at you!" he called after him through the open window, then shook his head and went to shower.


	3. Chapter 3

_Situation:_ Derek Hale needs to text Stiles Stilinski about their dinner plans.  
 _Problem:_ Derek Hale has never texted before.  
 _Solution:_ Derek Hale needs to learn to text.

After putting Stiles's number into his phone, Derek isn't really sure how to start. He touches the screen where it says "Text Message". But what does he say?

 _Derek:_ Stiles. This is Derail.  
 _Stiles:_ Hi, Derail, nice to meet you.  
 _Derek:_ Derek  
 _Stiles:_ Right.  
 _Derek:_ I just got this pho e and I don't know how it worka yet. Lol.  
 _Stiles:_ Someone has an autocorrect problem.  
 _Stiles:_ That is not how you use "lol." It's for when things are funny.  
 _Derek:_ Phone  
 _Derek:_ Works  
 _Derek:_ Stupid phoned.  
 _Derek:_ How dk I go back Nd correct things?  
 _Stiles:_ I don't know if I should tell you.  
 _Derek:_ Without deleuing.  
 _Stiles:_ Personally I'm finding this hilarious.  
 _Derek:_ Stiles,  
 _Stiles:_ ,...?  
 _Derek:_ Fucn this  
 _Stiles:_ What about dinner?

Derek didn't answer.


	4. Chapter 4

_Situation:_ Stiles Stilinski received a cryptic, angry text message from Derek Hale.  
 _Problem:_ Stiles Stilinski was supposed to receive plans about a date from Derek.  
 _Solution:_ Stiles Stilinski needs to communicate with Derek.

Stiles tried calling Derek, but the werewolf's phone was apparently turned off. Only Derek Hale could be this frustrating. He shook his head and bit his lip. He hoped Derek hadn't changed his mind. But he said he'd just gotten a phone. To text him, Stiles. That wasn't mind-changing, that was determination. He tried calling again; Derek's phone was still off.

"Fuck," Stiles said to himself. He was _this close_ to a date with Derek Hale, and now Derek was going to ruin it by not picking up his phone. Then he laughed at himself, at how quickly he'd adjusted his frame of reference from Lydia to Derek. (Although it hadn't that difficult, really, now that he thought about it. He wondered again if maybe he'd just been…not _lying_ to himself, exactly, but something.) He licked his lips, then it occurred to him that it was around lunchtime, so he headed to the kitchen to make himself some pasta. Easy. Delicious. Stirring would take his mind off waiting.

He put on the water and watched it heat up for a while before he got bored, turned around, and nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Augh, Derek! Don't _do_ that!"

"Sorry," Derek said, not looking it. Stiles thought he saw the corners of Derek's mouth twitch. "My phone broke."

"Broke how?"

Derek pulled his phone out of one of the pockets of his jacket, looking sheepish, if that was possible. "Broken" was an understatement. "Destroyed" would've been more accurate.

"I…may have lost my temper. A little."

Stiles made an incredulous face. "A little? Should we talk about your anger issues?"

"I do _not_ have anger issues!" Derek protested. "This little thing kept popping up and saying 'Undo Typing' and 'Nothing to Undo' and I couldn't get it to go away and then it broke."

"It sounds like you've had a rough morning," Stiles said.

"Yes," Derek said simply.

"Sit down," Stiles said. "You can have some pasta with me and I'll make you a latte."

"What?" Derek asked.

"A latte," Stiles said. He took down a glass and poured some milk, then took out a bottle of chocolate syrup.

"Stiles, what are you doing?"

"Making a latte," Stiles said, squeezing some chocolate syrup into the milk.

"Stiles, that's chocolate milk," Derek said, confused.

"That's what a latte is." It was Stiles's turn to be briefly confused; he lost track of his pouring for a moment and the chocolate sauce bottle drifted until it was over the countertop before he noticed and tipped it back upright. "Oh, right. Not everyone calls it that."

"What?" Derek was clearly still confused. Stiles picked up the spilled chocolate sauce with his finger and tried to explain.

"It was because of my mom — she loved coffee. She was a coffee maniac. But Dad would never let her give me coffee, so she'd give me chocolate milk and call it a latte. And she'd have a real one and we'd sit and drink our lattes together. Then I got Scott calling it that, and that's what I call it." He paused for a moment to lick the chocolate off his fingers. "I drink it when I need to think. It…reminds me of her."

Derek understood. "I don't need extra reminders most of the time, living in the house, but when I want to remember Laura, I look for wildflowers. She…used to love them. It didn't matter what kind. Everything from dandelions up." Derek's voice cracked a bit, but Stiles didn't find it as alarming today as he had the day before, for some reason.

"What was she like?" he asked, stirring the chocolate syrup into the milk and watching it turn a satisfyingly chocolate color. "If you feel like talking about it."

"She was the bravest person I ever knew," Derek said, composing himself as Stiles handed him the cup. "After the fire, she was the one who kept me going. I almost lost it, but she made me stay in school. I wanted to help her with whatever she was looking for, — for clues, I guess — but she wouldn't let me. After school, I didn't want to do anything. We moved around a lot. I was hard on her. I was angry."

"But you kept going."

"She made me." Derek opens his mouth again, then closes it. "Sorry, it's hard to talk about."

"Believe me, I know," Stiles said. "After my mom died…I didn't talk to anyone, for a while. Except Scott, sometimes. I had panic attacks; I'd go hide in the bathroom and hope they'd go away without anyone noticing. And Dad was so…broken. He's still not really back together. I don't know if either of us will ever be, really."

"I'm sorry."

They shared a moment of silence, then Stiles jumped.

"The water!" It was boiling now; he poured in the pasta and set the timer. "Seriously, you're welcome to have some."

Derek shook his head. "I…think I'd better go."

He turned, then stopped and turned back. "Except I actually came to talk about tonight."

"Tonight! Yes!" Stiles stirred the pasta inattentively. "Pizza?"

"Pizza sounds fine," Derek said. "I'll pick you up at…5:30?"

"Sure," Stiles said, trying not to sound too eager, though he doubted it was convincing.

"It's…been a long time since I went on a date," Derek said, slowly.

"Well, I've never been on one," Stiles said. "Unless you count going to winter formal with Lydia. But that didn't go so well, so let's not. Or that one time when Scott thought Mary Thomson was cute and asked her for ice cream but then chickened out and had me go instead. But that was in middle school, so I don't think that really counts."

"Do you ever stop talking?" Derek asked, amused.

Stiles considered for about half a second, then said, "I can think of times when I would."

Derek raised his eyebrows, and Stiles flushed. Then Derek left, hoping he had turned away fast enough to conceal the rush of blood to his own face.


	5. Chapter 5

_Situation:_ Derek Hale is picking up Stiles Stilinski at 5:30 for pizza.  
 _Problem:_ Neither Derek Hale nor Stiles Stilinski knows what to wear.  
 _Solution:_ Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski need to find some clothes.

This was actually something of a problem for Derek, what with not having a real, functioning house. He more or less just had his suitcase from when they'd been traveling. Plus a bookshelf up on the second floor of the house. For normal circumstances it was enough. He'd drive out to the laundromat a few towns away when he needed to do laundry. But everything he had was…well, not really appropriate for a date. Ripped or bloodstained, really. He looked down at the shirt he was wearing as he drove back to his house. Bloodstain and rip on the right side. Somehow no matter how many times he washed it, the blood never seemed to come out.

He laughed to himself bitterly. If he were in a book, English teachers everywhere would be telling their students that this blood was a metaphor for the rest of his life. "God, I sound like an angsty teenager."

He got back to the house and rummaged through the small pile of his stuff. Nothing suitable. Then he remembered something, and went to his suitcase, which he'd left in the corner of his room, assuming he wouldn't need it anymore. Inside it was a t-shirt, rolled up so as to take up less space. He picked it up and shook it open, then looked critically at it. It was tie-dye. He grimaced. It was awful. Under normal circumstances he would never wear it. He looked back at the bloodstained, ripped shirts. Maybe they wouldn't be so bad if he just kept his jacket on over them. He looked down at the shirt he was wearing again. This stain was definitely too big for polite company without the jacket, almost too big even with it. And the rip was too much.

He rifled through the pile of clothes again until he found a shirt with only one small stain on the left side and no rips. Probably this would be fine, but he looked back at the tie-dye shirt again. Maybe he'd bring the tie-dye along and just leave it in the car. There, problem solved: he'd have it if he needed it for some reason, but he didn't have to wear it.

...

Stiles carefully put off the panic he could feel rising up in him until he'd finished lunch. It was hard not to just leave the pasta sitting on the table and run around the house like a chicken with its head cut off, but he managed it somehow. Then he finished eating.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa—"

"Dude, Stiles!" He stopped. It was Scott, standing in the hallway at the front of the house.

"Scott!"

"I was going to knock, then I heard you yelling. Stiles, what the fuck is going on? Derek broke into my room this morning to get your phone number, and both of you say you're going on a date, and just, what the fuck, dude?" Scott was looking more confused than angry. He could be pretty dumb when he tried.

"Derek's coming over at 5:30 to pick me up and then we're going to go have dinner." The absurdity of the situation suddenly struck him, and he laughed.

"I don't get it."

"That's 'cause you're an idiot, Scott. It's not that hard. Me" — he pointed to himself — "like Derek. Derek like me. We go on date. Maybe we date afterwards."

"But you're not gay," Scott protested, brain still clearly not catching on.

"Well, I didn't think so, either," Stiles said, "but apparently I was wrong? Or confused, or something. Anyway, I'm allowed to go on dates."

"My best friend is going on a date with the alpha who stopped me from becoming human again," Scott said, temper rising. "What if Derek goes crazy and hurts you? Or someone else?"

"Is this about me or Allison?" Stiles asked. "Besides, Derek's not crazy. Just lonely. And sad." _And hot_ , he added in his head, surprising himself.

"And _the alpha_."

Stiles shrugged. "You're dating Allison. Isn't that just as dangerous?"

"At least her father hasn't threatened to rip my head off!"

"No, he only shot you in the arm with a crossbow."

"Fine. Be that way." Scott turned to leave.

"Wait, Scott," Stiles said, and Scott stopped and turned back. "Sorry for springing this on you. It just kind of happened." Scott didn't say anything. "What should I wear?"

Scott blinked. "What?"

"Date. Clothes. What should I wear?" Stiles resisted the urge to knock Scott on the head. Maybe it would get his brain working again.

"What kind of date is it?" Scott asked.

"I don't know! I've never been on a date! We're going to get pizza. What kind of date is that?"

"Not a date-date," Scott said. "Just wear what you're wearing now. You look fine."

Stiles looked at himself. Jeans, fine. Then he smiled at the shirt. It was the orange and blue striped one Danny had said "wasn't Derek's color". He'd washed it since then, obviously, but it was a little stretched. Derek was a lot bigger than he was. He wore it anyway. Maybe he'd put on one of his button-down shirts over it.

"Thanks, Scott."

"You're welcome," he said grudgingly, then slipped back out the door and left.

"And hopefully that's the end of Everyone Comes Into Stiles's House Unannounced Day," Stiles said to himself, then went back to some slightly lower-key panicking.

 _Situation:_ Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski have a date at 5:30.  
 _Problem:_ It's 2:11.  
 _Solution:_ Nothing to do but wait.

**Author's Note:**

> To continue the fanfiction genealogy, I owe my headcanon re Stiles as a cook to Boy_On_Strings's _[Slow Burn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/317209)_.


End file.
